


Anchored

by chipfics



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi, novelization of a personal au. pretty self indulgent. will update as I'm able.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chipfics/pseuds/chipfics
Summary: Inquisition AU- Tristan Trevelyan is sent as a representative of his family's interests to the Conclave. There he reunites with his sister for the first time in years- a good thing- but things go downhill from there. AU Novelization. Various pairings, long term project.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Josephine Montilyet/Male Trevelyan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Anchored

**Author's Note:**

> This is a personal AU featuring my Trevelyan Sibling ocs and my trans Lavellan rogue. Romances will probably not kick in for a very long time, but I've tagged the two main ones in the interest of clarity. Thank you in advance if you decide to read, and even more if you enjoy it!

It had been only a year since the mage rebellion had begun in full, but Circles had fallen left and right for years prior, starting around the time of the Fifth Blight.

It had been three and a half since Ostwick's Circle fell to infighting. Tristan Trevelyan had counted the days.

Three and a half years since he had run into it, burning and full of screaming and fighting, and carried his older sister out and through back roads to the edge of the city. Three and a half years since they had said goodbye. Just as much time since he had heard anything of her. If she was even alive, she was far away.

He knew, he was sure, why she had never kept in touch. Declared an apostate, it would only cause the family trouble for her to be in contact. They had close ties to the Chantry and it was already whispered about that their second child was a mage. For them to harbor her in the midst of a rebellion would have been disastrous for their reputation.

Tristan knew his family would not have cared. Though not always close knit, they were on good terms and loyal to each other. Their parents had retired and left management of the estate to their eldest son Roland five years ago already. He was ten years ahead of Alyssa and fifteen from Tristan, but he was protective of them both and would have fought the Chantry with his own hands to protect his sister, if she'd given him the chance.

But rather than drag her family into things Alyssa had fled from Ostwick less than a day after the Circle fell. The last time Tristan had seen her he had watched her striding into the distance from the city gates, northward.

And now the word had spread of the Conclave- peace talks between the Templars and mage rebellion, organized by Divine Justinia herself.

Many noble houses would be sending representatives, and the Trevelyans were no exception. Roland was too busy running the estate and raising his children, and their parents had retired already. With Alyssa in the wind, if she was even alive, Tristan had been chosen to attend.

At twenty-five he was well into adulthood. Unmarried and unattached, he had spent most of his time assisting Roland in what ways he could with estate management since coming of age. It was somewhat expected he would eventually join the Chantry in some capacity- many youngest children of their family always had- but Tristan himself was not sure what he wanted.

But he knew one thing, as he went about packing his things that afternoon. The war was getting too many innocents caught up in it. To whatever end, he wanted it to stop. And if this Conclave could achieve peace, then he wanted to do his utmost to help it along.

He did not look the part of a diplomat. He was very tall, very broad and strong in build, and had never excelled at dealing with people. The stutter and timid cringe of his youth were behind him, but he still found himself more easily flustered and taken off guard than most. He hoped it would not work too much to his detriment when he arrived in Haven.

He would make the journey first by boat from the port and then by foot south to the village of Haven. It would take a week at least, a long and lonely road and his first time outside of Ostwick since before he came of age. Tristan ran a hand through his mussed hair for the hundredth time that day and sighed deeply.

The sound of small feet scampering down the hallway caught his attention and he turned just in time for two children to scramble in through the doorway of his quarters. A boy of twelve and a girl of eight- his brother's children Elliot and Annalise.

They were both head to toe covered in freckles, a Trevelyan trait, but aside their features were more like their mother's. Curly dark hair, dark eyes, and darker skin.

Annalise attached herself immediately to one of Tristan's legs and Elliot to his waist.

“Are you leaving today, Uncle Tristan?” Elliot asked immediately, “I didn't think you'd be going so soon.”

Tristan's brother and his wife were loving parents, but also busy. As he had yet to settle into a full career of his own he often found himself devoting time to making sure his niece and nephew were not lonely. He walked them to their tutoring sessions, took them out riding, played with them in the garden. They were naturally very attached to him as a result, and would be sad to see him go.

“The business is a bit urgent, I'm afraid.” Tristan offered gently, “Did your parents explain what is happening to you?”

“A little,” Elliot said, “They said that the Divine is going to try and get the mages and templars to stop fighting.”

“More or less, though I doubt it will be that simple.” Tristan replied, “A lot of nobles will be showing up to try and help. I'll be one of them.”

“Are you going to meet the Divine, Uncle?” Annalise bubbled.

“I doubt I'll have any kind of role as important as that,” Tristan laughed, “I'll be just a minor representative, I'm sure. But I'll do what I can.”

Elliot backed away a little and fixed him with a deep gaze for a moment. “Uncle,” he said slowly, “If the mages are safe again, will Auntie come home?”

Tristan was quiet for a long moment. He didn't know what would happen at the Conclave, if peace was even possible with the current mindsets of the factions involved. If things went poorly, the fighting may just get worse. But he hadn't the heart to say that to the children looking up at him hopefully. They had been terribly fond of Alyssa too. Of course they missed her- even if they were starting to forget things about her.

“...I hope so,” He eventually said, and pulled both children up into his arms for a bear hug, “Thank you for coming to see me. I still have packing to do, but I promise I'll say goodbye before I leave.”

The children ran back out as soon as he put them down, and he returned to getting his things together.

* * *

His journey south was blessedly uneventful, if increasingly chilly. It was the start of winter, and the south was already so much colder than Ostwick was. Tristan found himself in the company of more and more travelers as he went- mages, templars, nobles, pilgrims. The tension felt thicker the closer he came to Haven, and by the time he arrived it was almost a tangible object in the air. Tristan himself felt somewhat on edge looking at mages and templars sending each other death glares as he passed through the gates. He had brought his greatsword with him for protection on the road. He hoped he wouldn't need to use it _here_.

Haven was not as small as it had once been, but it was still not a very large place at all. The buildings were all bare and simple, very little paint, the roads were muddy and slushy. He felt eyes on him as he walked. Unnerving as that could be, he was used to it and no longer surprised. He was so tall, nearly six and a half feet- it was impossible for him not to stick out, especially with the addition of his brightly colored hair and green eyes.

He made for the Chantry at the north end of the village first. Likely there were clerics in it who could direct him to some lodging and where to check in, if there was any such protocol set up yet.

It was the tallest, grandest building in Haven, and that was no surprise. The Chantry was fond of grand things, as much as it tried to pretend it wasn't. Tristan was somewhat religious, but he had always felt there was something off about the level to which the Chantry worried about surface appearances. There were in fact many things he did not really like about the Chantry as a larger organization- but it wasn't his place or privilege to be making criticisms right now.

As expected there were many milling about and working and talking even outside the Chantry itself. Tristan was hard pressed to find anyone not occupied, and so he went inside hoping to have more luck locating someone who wasn't busy. There was so much work to be done, he was sure, that he would hate to tear anyone away from a task.

Finally, he did find a young cleric about his own age just walking out of a side room, and he paused to get her attention.

“Excuse me sister,” He said politely, “I've just arrived from Ostwick, representing the Trevelyan estate. I'm looking for lodging?”

The young woman looked at him with raised brows, having to crane her neck, but offered a polite bow all the same. “Welcome, my lord,” she said, “I'm afraid there isn't much in the way of proper lodging available just now, but there are some cozy tents set up for some of the nobles of the southwestern walls. I suggest you make your way there first.”

More camping. Well, at least he wouldn't be doing it alone. And if the tents were set up with nobility in mind the trappings would at least be more comfortable than the bedroll he had carried with him. He offered a gentle  _thank you_ to the cleric and marched back out, intent on settling in somewhere before finding more information on what would be expected of him.

It was just as he left the front gates again that he caught sight of something and stopped abruptly.

He blinked several times and scanned the crowd thoroughly, sure he had seen a familiar face. It took several moments but finally he saw her- huddled against a tree in a hooded coat. A small woman, not even five feet, with the same coloring as him and the same nose.

His heart nearly shuddered to a stop. Alyssa looked exactly the same as she had when he saw her last. She was watching the passerby tensely, hands clutching the strap of a bag. Tristan was almost sure it was her, and his pulse pounded in his ears as he drove his legs forward to find out for sure.

He made a beeline through the crowd and was only a few paces away, her name on his breath, when the elf appeared.

He was lithe and wiry, bundled up but still barefoot. He had the facial tattoos common among the Dalish, black hair to his chin, and blue eyes- the left one had a horrid looking scar over it.

Already the elf had a dagger drawn and entered a defensive stance between Tristan and the woman he was _sure_ was his sister. Surprised by the sudden appearance and alarmed by the weapon, he backed up a pace.

“Don't get too excited,” the elf said coolly, “Are you a templar?”

“What?” Tristan said, “No, I-” he looked past the elf. “Alyssa,” He called, “is that you?”

She looked up, and he saw her eyes were the same warm green as his. Her lips parted and he saw her inhale deeply before striding forward and taking the elf by the shoulder.

“Allain,” She hissed, “Open your eyes. He's not after trouble.”

The elf- Allain, apparently- looked him up and down. The caution bled out of his stance and he sheathed his dagger.

“So he isn't,” He said, “Not wearing the clothes or the scowl- he looks rather like you, doesn't he?”

“He's my little brother.”

“It _is_ you,” Tristan breathed. He didn't try to stop himself from sweeping the tiny woman into a tight hug and Alyssa grunted as the air was squeezed out of her. Still, one of her hands reached to pat his back soundly before he had the sense to put her down.

They clasped hands. 

“You've gotten even bulkier, Tristan.” Alyssa said, “If that's possible.”

“Where have you been?” Tristan asked, still shocked, “I was afraid you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“It's too busy out here,” Alyssa said, looking around, “Let's find somewhere quiet to talk.”

* * *

They found a small copse of trees with fallen logs not far away, and sat there.

The elf introduced himself properly then. “I'm Allain of Clan Lavellan,” He said, “Thirty-eight years. I've been looking after your sister, as it were.”

Tristan nodded politely at him. “Tristan Trevelyan,” He replied, “You're Dalish? Why aren't you still with your clan?”

Allain adjusted the quiver on his back. “Your sister showed up near our camp half starved and sick to death,” he said, “Round about three and a half years ago. We don't deal with shemlens much, but we've no quarrel with anyone so long as they mean us no harm. She was hurt, tired, ill- so our Keeper let her stay just as long as it took for her to get her strength back.”

Tristan nodded, and Allain went on. “We struck up a friendship, as it were. And I was worried about her running off into the wild alone even once she was well. A mage from a noble family with no hunting or camping experience? I was sure she'd starve or stumble off of a cliff.”

“Hey,” Alyssa said lightly, “I'm not _that_ helpless.”

Allain smiled slightly. “Anyway, with the Keeper's permission I went with her. We stayed on the fringes of small villages mostly, kept to ourselves and avoided trouble. But word of this Conclave was everywhere by last month and Alyssa wanted to see what it was all about.”

“Allain came along,” Alyssa added, “He thinks many people here are just looking for a fight. I don't doubt that, honestly. You could cut the tension here with a knife and serve it like toast.”

Tristan hummed thoughtfully. It was a lot to process that his sister had spent however long recuperating from her wounds with a clan of Dalish elves, and was now traveling with one as if he were family. Still, it was better than her being cut down somewhere. She was alive, and here, and safe. He would count his blessings.

“Thank you, Allain,” He said, “For helping her.”

The next hours passed pleasantly. For some time Tristan and Alyssa chatted, caught up on each other's lives. Allain chimed in wherever he felt like it, easygoing and relaxed now that he knew Alyssa was in no danger.

They parted long enough in the afternoon for Tristan to find his place in the camp with the other nobility. He was able to reserve a tent for himself, and he rendezvoused with Alyssa at the small tavern after. Allain left when he arrived, saying he would get the lay of the land and secure a camping spot somewhere safe for himself and Alyssa.

“You two can catch up some more without me,” He said as he left.

With drinks served and the tavern more relaxed than other spaces in the village, Alyssa hunkered down and leaned in.

“How is Roland? The family?” She asked, “You've talked plenty about what you've been up to, but...”

“They're well,” Tristan said, “Elliot is growing like a weed. Annalise too.”

Alyssa's face was soft. “I miss the little ones,” She said, “Very much.”

“They want you to come home,” Tristan told her, “So does everyone else. You didn't have to leave, you know- we'd have kept you safe.”

“And endangered centuries of bonds with the Chantry and Templars to do it,” Alyssa said easily, “I won't ruin the family like that.”

“If we prioritized our reputation over each other we'd already be ruined,” Tristan said firmly.

“You're not going to drag me back to Ostwick with you however this ends up, are you?” Alyssa asked dryly. 

“I just might,” Tristan said. He was only half joking.

Alyssa laughed softly through her nose.

“Do you know exactly where the meetings will be held?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Further in the valley, at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Tristan said, “I don't think that will start for a few days, but I thought I would go there tomorrow just to look around. It's quite a landmark, after all.”

“That it is,” Alyssa said, “Perhaps I'll come with you.”

“I'd like if you did,” Was the reply.

Tristan had expected that any reunion with his sister was still far away. He was glad to be proven wrong, and even gladder to keep her as close as he could for as long as possible. Whatever the results of the Conclave, he wouldn't let her go off alone again.


End file.
